Replicate
by SerenityCourage
Summary: Stalk me once, shame on you. Stalk me twice...Will contain spanking.
1. Chapter 1

It had all started out simple enough.

Jason had been a nice guy, if not a bit too vanilla for her. He was clever and made her laugh, and Abby had genuinely enjoyed the time that she'd spent with him.

The relationship had lasted a long time, if several months could be considered a long time, mostly because it was comfortable and not because she felt anything particularly special towards him. It was just nice to have something to do when she wasn't working, and Jason never had any protests about their less than passionate dates.

Still, something always seemed just a bit off about him. Nothing major, just little things. Like the fact that he didn't seem to understand that she liked to be the one to answer her own cell phone.

He was always jumping for it the minute he heard it ring, no matter how many times she reamed him out for it. But then, he would tell her how sorry he was and assure her that it would never happen again, before planting a kiss to the spot on her neck like he knew she loved so much and everything would be alright again.

It alarmed her how quick to anger he was. He'd never outright _hurt _her, but he had the tendency to get fired up over everything. Abby found herself hurrying home to avoid agitating him by being late. No, he wasn't controlling her, she assured her friends often. It was just easier not to provoke a fight, and they certainly got into some of their worst ones on the subject of being late. He didn't like her spending so much time away from home. Away from _him_. She supposed he was right.

It really was rude to be gone so often.

Despite his minor quirks, Jason was good for her. He never bugged her phone, stole her mail, slashed her tires, or any other Mikel-like habits that would cause her to panic. He wasn't like the others, and this would end well. She was sure of it.

The first time that he'd hit her was the last time. Abby knew that he had to go.

And that was exactly what she told him.

Her friends were relieved to have her back, cheerful as ever. Jason had never let her spend any time with them.

_Let_.

It was disgusting to think that he'd ever had to _let _her do anything. She could think for herself, rather quickly and efficiently in her opinion, and he had absolutely no right to tell her what to do. To _let _her do the things she wanted to do.

Abigail Sciuto was her own person, and nobody _let _her do anything.

Except Gibbs, maybe.

It was another month before Abby heard from Jason again.

She'd done her best to act civil and maybe even a bit _polite _when his number showed up on her caller ID. All of her answers to his questions had been clear, no mixed signals. Yes, she was doing alright. No, she would not like to meet for lunch.

The second time he called, three days later, her patience began to wear thin. No, she did _not _want to give it another try, and it would be appreciated if he would just _leave her alone_.

When he showed up at her apartment, Jason had been beaming from ear to ear. He talked like they were still lovers, and he was coming home from a long trip, anxious to see her and perplexed by her frigid behavior.

The door remained firmly closed.

Abby didn't see the man for weeks after that. It was easy and comfortable to think that she was in the clear. Until one night, when she came home from work, juggling a bag of groceries and weary from the overtime that she'd been putting in, something made her pause.

It had only been moments before she would have slipped her key into the lock when she saw the light on under the door. Now breathing heavily, Abby set her bag down and reached into her pocket looking for something to defend herself with. Coming up empty, she flicked a single key into her palm, wincing at her pathetic weapon.

She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, brandishing her key in front of her like a sword.

There stood Jason. In the process of flicking through her mail.

When he saw her, he grinned.

The door slammed shut behind her as she dashed out of the apartment, leaving her groceries on the hallway floor and heading for the elevator. She heard his voice call out to her, confused and upset, as she pressed the button to close the door.

Out of habit, Abby's hand reached out and smacked the emergency stop button. Tired in body and mind, she slid to the floor.

_Oh God, not again. _

And there on the elevator floor, Abby cried.

Her coworkers couldn't find out, Abby knew that much. She was doing a good job hiding it, as far as she was concerned. They hadn't noticed anything unusual about her.

In fact, there were so few differences in her behavior that it would be difficult for anyone to know what was going on.

There could be a lot of explanations as to why she would no longer accept a ride home from any of her friends, the most obvious of them not being that she was hiding away in a hotel room, praying that she wouldn't come home to find _him_ there.

All of her odd actions could be reasoned away, and that was the way Abby liked it.

Of course, the people she considered to be her family were a little preoccupied with Ziva's rescue and readjusting. And then the whole ordeal with Mike Franks, and all of Gibbs's problems that year...

She didn't blame them. Everything had been so crazy lately, it and was important that the team put everything they had into starting to make things right.

They didn't need to have to deal with her silly little problem. She'd gotten herself into this mess, and now it was her responsibility to get herself out, without Gibbs or the rest ever finding out.

It was best for everyone involved if the entire thing was concealed, even if she had to step on a few toes and tell a few lies to keep it that way.


	2. Chapter 2

The hotel manager would be horrified to see the state that room 312 was currently in.

Furniture had been entirely rearranged; some pieces even pushed out across the hall and into room 310, whose occupants really needed to lock their door more often.

Enlarged photographs of blood spatter, bullet fragments, and particulates galore were suspended on the walls. Held there by hot glue, of course, as every long term guest was informed that the hotel policy strictly prohibited the use of nails to hang personal items.

If that wasn't enough, the portion of the walls that was _not_ covered by the earlier mentioned…art, had mysteriously taken on an almost _black_ hue. Although, if questioned, the guest staying in room 312 would deny any knowledge of how it got that way.

On the other hand, Abby Sciuto had no intention of being questioned.

The way she saw it, there could only be two possibilities. One, she would paint the room back to that hideous taupe color once she could finally go back to her apartment; or two, Jason would never give up, and she would never get to leave.

Abby mulled over those options as she greeted the parking attendant on her way to her parking spot.

"Would you like me to bring your…um…vehicle around front, Miss Abby?"

"No thank you, Walt. It's not that I don't trust you, my baby just doesn't like anyone else at the wheel."

And as always, Walt was chuckling softly to himself as he watched the only hearse in the garage pull out into the street.

When Abby arrived at NCIS that morning, she smiled and chatted idly with security, as she did every day. Then, pausing to wave at the janitor, she made her way to her lab. All as normally as possible.

However, what Walt, security, and the janitor didn't know was that everything in Abby's life was far from normal.

Groaning, she dropped her bag at the entrance of her office and lowered herself into a chair. Rubbing her temples, she pondered her situation.

It was rather frustrating to be chased out of her own home by a psychotic boyfriend with attachment issues.

_Beep…beep…_

Speaking of the psychotic boyfriend with attachment issues…

The caller ID flashed Jason's name, and Abby stared at it weakly. The phone clattered as it hit the bottom of the drawer and she slammed it shut. It wasn't worth it. She'd get a new number tomorrow.

Soon she was immersed in her work, the hours of sleep that she'd lost the night before beginning to catch up with her. Inevitably, the beleaguered lab rat fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of stalkers, ringing phones, and angry hotel managers.

* * *

It was a wonder that she didn't awaken when Tony and Ziva clambered through her lab doors in a panic, having been ordered down to the lab by an anxious Gibbs. The entire team had been on the way back from an arrest when it was discovered that no one could reach their resident lab rat.

They both halted when they noticed Abby asleep at her desk, hand still wrapped around her computer mouse. Shaking off the unnerving feeling that was brought on by seeing her friend looking so exhausted and remarkably un-Abby, Ziva stepped loser and crouched down to get a better look at her face.

"She seems to be unharmed. But tired."

The woman reached up to run a sisterly hand through her friend's hair. Tony nodded once, looking grim. He moved to the back of the office and pulled out the futon that he knew was kept there. Spying Bert sitting atop a filing cabinet, he snatched the Hippo down and laid him on the edge of the makeshift bed.

Meanwhile, Ziva had caught onto Tony's train of thought. She deftly untied Abby's black boots and pulled them off of her feet. The pigtails came next, followed by the other woman's heavy jewelry.

Finally, once Tony had placed her smoothly on the futon and Ziva had gently pulled a blanket over her body, Abby slept peacefully.

The two agents glanced at each other, then at Abby, and quietly left the room.

* * *

"Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to talk to Abby before we break into her apartment. It's possible that nothing's wrong and she just had a late night."

"The fact that our keys don't work and we have to break in means that something is wrong. Don't be such a baby, McCoward. We won't let the tough, scary, half-your-size Abby hurt you."

McGee frowned as Ziva continued to fiddle with the lock of Abby's apartment door.

"These locks are new. She's had them changed within the past month," Ziva announced, "And I would think that you would be more frightened of defying Gibbs than angering Abby."

"I still don't understand why Gibbs wants to search her apartment," said McGee, glancing over his shoulder, nervous that a concerned neighbor would catch them in the act.

"He obviously thinks that something's wrong. You can't tell me that you haven't noticed how strange she's been lately. Jumpy. There's definitely something going on."

Just then, the door clicked open, and Ziva stepped away triumphantly. "Shall we find out?"

The three agents slowly stepped into the apartment and split up.

Tony headed into the kitchen and stooped down to peer into the cabinets. He opened each one, until he finally got frustrated and slammed them shut.

"She apparently doesn't think that she needs to eat anymore. There isn't any food in this kitchen."

Looking up from the screen of the desktop computer, McGee winced. He tapped the keyboard a couple times more and his eyebrows dipped in confusion.

"Her computer doesn't have any security. It's like she doesn't even use it anymore."

"What's the last thing on it?" Tony asked, examining the refrigerator, seeming aggravated.

"Um…it looks like the last search is for hotels in the area. Looks like she made a reservation about three weeks ago."

"Write the address down," Ziva called from the doorway of the bedroom, "And call Gibbs."

"What's wrong?"

When she didn't answer, both men moved to stand next her and immediately froze.

The bedroom was in shambles.

Overturned onto its side, the dresser had spilled its contents onto the floor. The closet door was hanging by a hinge, looking as though it had been yanked off and then dropped. Eyes were automatically drawn to the center of the room, where the bedclothes that Abby used to so neatly arrange were slashed to pieces, draped limply over the bed.

"Oh, Abby," Ziva whispered.

Tony stepped into the room, carefully avoiding doing any more damage to the items on the floor. He halfheartedly attempted to lift the heavy oak dresser back into position, before giving up and shrugging helplessly.

"There's no way she could knock that thing down on her own. She's strong, but she's small."

"So you're saying someone _helped_?"

"Seems more like someone hurt."

Looking down at his phone, McGee grimaced.

"Gibbs isn't going to like this."


End file.
